


Sleight of Hand

by lemon_dovey



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Dub Con (in flashback), PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25327645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_dovey/pseuds/lemon_dovey
Summary: Wilson had grown accustomed to the relative privacy of solitude. Maybe he should have known better.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 102





	Sleight of Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha okay so this is my first complete work in literal years, and also my first smut. Comments and CC welcome, just please be respectful!

“Say pal, it looks like you could use a little help,” A voice said from the dark pooling just behind the fire pit. 

Wilson gasped, flinching hard and pulling his hand away from his crotch in the most incriminating way possible. There was no denying what he’d been doing, and he shouldn’t have been surprised Maxwell could see him while he was at it. 

Maxwell stepped forth into the firelight, his long limbs stylishly clad in a black and purple pinstripe suit. He had a poppy pinned to his vest, and his shoes gleamed in the weak light. 

“Would you… Like a hand?” He asked, very much tongue in cheek. 

Wilson shot to his feet, feeling the heat in his face. “I’m sure I’m misunderstanding you, Maxwell. Or perhaps this is your idea of a joke? Either way I suggest you leave immediately.” Of course he had a weapon in reach, though he hesitated to grab for it. He wasn’t sure what good a spear or razor would do against someone who could appear and disappear at will. 

“Oh, such a cold reception,” Maxwell chuckled. “Here I thought you'd appreciate my generosity a little more. I’ve got quite the reputation to uphold you know; it was a risk for me to come to you. But I thought it was worth it!” He postured, turning to look at Wilson over his shoulder, ever the performer. “The chance for companionship on a chilly night, after so many spent alone.” The king waved his hand in an elegant little gesture, probably one he practiced alone in the throne room quite often. “It’s no matter though,” He sniffed, “I don’t mind. I’ll leave you to your sad little bed roll. I’d say to your privacy, but well…” He grinned a shark’s grin and sauntered back into the darkness, vanishing. 

Wilson watched him go, heart hammering. He thought about Maxwell, watching him from the darkness all around him, his dark eyes hungrily roving Wilson’s body. His dick was still making a bulge in his trousers, their buttons undone and his shorts sticking out. He was certain his face was crimson, and his knees trembled with adrenaline. What a state he must look.

What was the point of that? Just to humiliate Wilson? Or had the offer been more sincere than it sounded?

Wilson groaned and sat back down on his bed roll, reclining and letting his legs drop apart. His skin prickled with imagined eyes on him. He thought he saw Maxwell’s outline in every shadow cast by the fire. He imagined him on the Throne as well, slouched back, his elegant hands caught up in doing something other than gesturing down at people. His long, pointed fingers tracing the outline of his cock in his pinstripe pants. 

Wilson’s hand twitched back towards his crotch, embarrassment and desire coloring his face a deeper shade of red. He wanted so badly to grasp himself, to pretend it was hard, sharp hands where his own calloused fingers were. Maxwell’s thin wrists were burning in Wilson’s mind. He let his head fall back and cursed quietly.

A thought occurred to Wilson as he deliberated. If Maxwell was watching him now… Did that mean he’d been watching the other times Wilson had gotten himself off? Had he only revealed himself because-- Wilson flashed back to last time. His fingers pressed up inside himself, ass up and exposed in the -what he thought- privacy of his tent. His other hand fisting his dick as he came hard, choking out Maxwell’s name. 

_He’d been dreaming of Maxwell summoning him to the throne room, naked and vulnerable. Nighthands grasping him and spreading him wide, in spite of his struggles. They lifted him up over Maxwell’s restrained form, exposing him to the king. More hands appeared to guide him back, so Maxwell’s cock could push into him. It was a stretch and he was unprepared, but there was still no pain. Maxwell’s voice came up from behind him, whispering filthy things into his ear as he thrust up into him hard, contorting himself to reach as far as his bonds would allow. Wilson struggled uselessly, his dick harder than it had ever been, weeping precum onto the shadowed floor of the throne room. He dreamed of Maxwell coming into him with a particularly rough thrust, filling him to the breaking point until he was crying out, begging for release._

“Oh, mother of fuck, that’s embarrassing,” Wilson said aloud. But his cock twitched again at the memory, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Maxwell was still there, enjoying the show.

Wilson closed his eyes, took a deep steadying breath, and let the embarrassment drop away. If Maxwell had already seen him, had already been made aware of his feelings, then why should he bother with being coy? He wanted to get off, and if Maxwell wanted to watch from the shadows then why should he care? 

Wilson slid his hand into his waistband, brushing past dark curls to run his fingers along the length of his half hard cock. His breath hitched with the first touch, and he let his mouth drop open a little, his hips pushing up into his hand. Conscious of his audience, he planted his feet firmly and lifted his hips off the straw roll, sliding his trousers down to free himself. His dick bounced as he shimmied his pants down to his knees, fully visible in the glow of the fire. 

Wilson let his imagination run wild as he slowly, tortuously traced the underside of his cock, following the vein up to the underside of his head. His thumb caressed the soft skin there, running over the slit and back down, smearing a bead of precum as he went. His other hand wandered up along his chest to his exposed collarbone. He scratched his blunt nails across it, imagining shining black claws in their place. He stroked up on his cock in tandem, and had to bite his lip to stifle a whine. 

Wilson cast his eyes, half-lidded, into the darkness, imagining there was a darker silhouette against the impregnable black around his camp. He imagined Maxwell’s hungry eyes fixed on him, trailing scorching lines along his body. He continued to stroke himself, slow languid pulls that drew attention to his erection. The head was flushed so pretty in the fire light, his fingers circling his girth, showing off exactly how thick he was. He thrust into the tight ring of his fingers, pretending he was making eye contact with the king in the dark. 

Wilson’s breathing grew a little ragged as pleasure began to spark through him, the muscles in his thighs tightening. He bucked up once more into his hand, a quiet moan falling from his open mouth. He fisted the head of his cock, giving a few deft twists as he rocked his hips up. It felt so _good_ , he was sure he could roughly jerk himself until he came, half naked on the ground. Oh, but he was still putting on a show, wasn’t he? He had a voyeur in the dark and he didn’t want any part of his little performance to be lacking, to invite snide remarks from the king. No, he wanted to leave Maxwell speechless, to wipe that smug look off his face for once. He imagined Maxwell, face red and eyes glittering dark, lowering his mouth down onto Wilson; using his sharp teeth to nip and mark his pale torso, his thick black claws to leave score marks down his sides. Wilson gasped, his hips bucking again. He wanted to be covered in Maxwell’s marks.

Wilson let his free hand wander away from his neck to hip bone, pinching small bruises into the tender flesh there. With each shock of pain his dick twitched in his hand, precum dripping down his shaft now, coating his fingers. With a bit of effort he released his dick and brought his fingers up to his mouth. He traced his bottom lip, smearing precum across it, wishing once again that his nails were sharper. 

_He had spent many bored hours in the dark, waiting for the sun to break through the night of the Constant, imagining Maxwell shoving his fingers into Wilson’s mouth, finger fucking his face until his jaw was sore and drool dripped down his chin._

Now, he dipped two fingers into his hot, wet mouth, the salty taste of himself spreading across his tongue. He pushed them in up to the knuckle, still staring into the dark, though his eyes had gone unfocused. He sucked on his thick, square fingers, tracing their sensitive tips with his tongue. A shudder rolled over him, goosebumps rising on his limbs. 

Wilson’s whole body was tingling now, his toes curling in his boots, his back tense against the thin padding of the straw roll. He pinched at his sensitive skin savagely, letting the pain bring him down a bit. He wasn’t ready to push past that edge, yet. He wanted to drive Maxwell a little wild before he came completely undone. He continued to fuck his mouth, panting now around his fingers. He pressed them as far back into his mouth as he could manage, then drew them back to his lips, forming a pretty little O, before pushing them back inside, as much as he could take. He pushed further, suddenly gagging on the intrusion in his throat. He coughed and pulled his fingers from his mouth, panting.

Drool coated his chin and he grinned with self-satisfaction, his eyes closing. With his blood in his dick, Wilson felt something like boldness sweep through him. He wrapped his drool slick fingers around his cock again, pausing to roll his head back and moan.

“A-are you enjoying- ah- the show, Maxwell?” Wilson said just above a whisper, his voice hoarse. He was so hard it ached. His hand was still teasing his dick, smearing pre and drool up and down without any pressure. He was still waiting, still fighting to control his movements, to draw it out. He didn’t even know what he was waiting for anymore, too lost in the sensations. Edging himself further just to feel himself dangling over the precipice. 

His whole body felt like it was on fire, the weight of his arousal pooling in his abdomen. He clawed up his hip over tender bruises, and groaned low in his throat. He made an o with his spit coated hand and thrust up into it, his hips bucking sharply. It felt so good, and his control finally began to unravel. He tilted his head back and moaned, his voice cracking, and picked up the pace of his thrusts, his hips rolling smoothly. Wet noises filled the air and his breath came as ragged gasps.

“F-fuck, I’m so close, Maxwell,” Wilson panted, his reservations lost in the fray. He could feel his balls tightening, his orgasm so close. “Please- ah!’

He imagined Maxwell was there, his lovely hands, one closing over his throat possessively. His free hand mirrored his fantasy, pressing into the veins on either side of his trachea. He imagined he was thrusting up into Maxwell’s grip, his hardened black hands covered in Wilson’s fluids. He imagined Maxwell’s mouth on the shell of his ear, commanding him to come.

“You’re such a desperate little slut,” The voice whispered directly into his ear, barely audible. Wilson wanted to protest, but his voice caught in his throat. “You’ve got no self respect. Come all over yourself to the thought of me, and maybe next time I’ll give you what you want.”

Wilson’s vision went white. He plummeted over the precipice; his hips stuttered and his thrusts came uneven, and he was gasping in time with the snap of his hips. Warm come spilled over his hand and down his wrist, but he kept thrusting as well as he could, his legs trembling with the effort. He milked his orgasm for every drop, until oversensitivity overtook him.

He released his dick, still shuddering. His breathing slowed and the aftershocks rolled through him, then faded. He relaxed, limp and sated on his bed roll. His surroundings came back into focus around him, and his eyes searched the camp. The fire was still burning, casting its ring of safety around him. And there, at the edge of the night, Wilson caught sight of Maxwell as he disappeared in a puff of smoke. Ah, so maybe it really had been his voice. 

Wilson grinned, a self satisfied little grin. When he could move again he cleaned himself up, and stoked the fire, before falling into a deep dreamless sleep. 

Maybe next time, he really would accept Maxwell’s ‘hand’.


End file.
